


voltron

by tearyeyes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith (Voltron) Angst, Self Harm, graphic depictions of self harm, i wrote this in the middle of an anxiety attack so it probably makes no sense, im just projecting lol, implied neurodivergent keith, peep my not knowing what to title this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tearyeyes/pseuds/tearyeyes
Summary: He braces his elbows against the wall to steady himself as his chest heaves, eyes searching frantically and panicked around the room for something to distract himself. His gaze lands on one of his old switchblades- the sharpest one, his favorite, the one that Shiro had been hesitant to let Keith keep in his room after the last incident.Disgust washes over him; horror, embarrassment. No, he can't do that, he can't.
Kudos: 27





	voltron

**Author's Note:**

> hey hi hello i'm back in my voltron slump 
> 
> TW for self harm (if u couldn't already tell that's what this is about)

"Fuck," Keith pants under his breath, hurriedly bolting his door shut and slumping against it.

His hands find their way into his hair, grasping and yanking at his dark locks. He doesn't notice how his nails dig into his temples and claw past his skin, leaving dark crescents behind. His mind races and his breath coming out in sharp pants.

Honestly, he doesn't remember exactly what had set him off this time. It had probably been something stupid, and Keith had been forgetting his meds a little too frequently. 

He braces his elbows against the wall to steady himself as his chest heaves, eyes searching frantically and panicked around the room for something to distract himself. His gaze lands on one of his old switchblades- the sharpest one, his favorite, the one that Shiro had been hesitant to let Keith keep in his room after the last incident.

Disgust washes over him; horror, embarrassment. No, he can't do that, he _can't._

His knees start to give up on him and Keith crumples to the floor once again. His fingers grip into his temples once more, as if they're trying to reach into his brain and force it to slow down.

He gets up sloppily, stumbling towards his knife as if he's high on his own anxiety and over-stimulation. It rests innocently on top of his drawers, unaware of its owner's turmoil.

His hands grasp around the small blade, shakily bringing it up to his face to inspect it.

It's been a while since he's used it- is it clean enough for his own skin? Infection is something he really shouldn't risk in outer space, in the middle of nowhere, even despite the castle's healing pods and the Alteans' advanced technology.

Fuck it, he decides, hastily pulling up the sleeve of his favorite red jacket to bring down the sharpened edge.

He starts slowly, carefully leaving thin red lines across the length of his wrist, careful not to get too deep. It doesn't last very long though, as his breathing deepens once more and he begins to litter cuts and scratches all over his arm. Keith doesn't remember exactly how long it's been when he fully loses himself in the pain- and it hurts, it hurts _so bad_ , but there's no way he can stop now.

Finally getting a hold of himself, Keith squints his eyes closed, so forceful that it nearly gives him a headache. He throws the blade across the room, and winces at the loud crash it sounds. He carefully opens his eyes once again, full of dread but aware that he still needs to assess the damage.

A gasp raises in his throat, but comes out as a choked sob. _Holy shit,_ he pants, an ugly sound. _Holy fuck_.

Keith crumples to the floor once more, his legs having turned more to jelly than the food goo in the castle's kitchen. Tears flow freely down his face once again, his cheeks and nose puffy and red. His lips look almost swollen, darkened and sore from the silent sobs wracking his body.

He pulls the back of his jacket up over his head, hiding his face despite nobody being around to see, and ignoring the sting in his arms and the mess he's most definitely making of himself.

It's too much, it's all gotten too much. He dreads the thought of one of the other paladins getting worried and trying to check on him, seeing him at such a gross moment. They'd be so disappointed in him, so horrified. The thought itself throws him into another fit of uncontrollable sobbing, his arms wrapped around his calves again as his face smushes into his knees, hurting his nose.

And, as if the universe was reading his mind, in a sick twist of reality, there's a loud knocking at Keith's door.

Keith freezes, his blood running cold. Fuck, fuck. Shit. He scrambles to wipe his face, rubbing desperately, making his red skin even redder, and his nose sore and raw. His sleeves are hastily pulled down, and Keith cringes at the realization that his jacket is getting stained and he'll have to wash it without anyone noticing.

"Keith?"

It's Shiro, of course it's Shiro. Keith frowns, inwardly cursing himself. "I don't want to talk to you right now." He calls out, hoping he sounds angry and annoyed, hoping Shiro won't notice the crack in his hoarse voice or see through his facade. 

There's a pause on the other side of the door, and then Shiro sighs and mumbles something about Keith's dinner getting cold, and to make sure he's taking care of himself. 

Keith listens as the black paladin walks away, and then slides back down the wall and curls up on the cold floor, his mind numb as he's left alone with his thoughts once more.


End file.
